Hopes and Dreams

I had a conversation with two of my cousins last year that has stuck with me. We talked about our hopes and dreams for our kids, and how we want more for our kids.

I don't think that's unusual--most parents wants their kids to go further and be more successful than they have been. But my cousins and I were not talking about material success. We were talking about the desire to see our children have a greater faith in God than we do. To love Jesus more than we do. To be more diligent in prayer, steadfast in love, and saturated in grace.

When I think about the children that Ken and I are adopting, I think about the dramatic change in course their lives will take in a few months. They don't know it yet, but they will be given the chance to go further and do more than their biological parents. They won't worry about whether there will be enough food to fill their growling tummies. They won't die of malnutrition or treatable disease. Water will be clean and safe to drink. They will get an education that rivals the best in the world. And they will have a family who never gives up on them, loves them forever and ever, no matter what may come.

But will they think about the years they lost in the orphanage? Will they wonder if God forgot them?

It would be great if they are on the honor roll, excel in sports, get a scholarship to university, meet and marry a wonderful person, live in a comfortable house, and have a high-paying job.

But ultimately none of that matters to me. I want them to know God. I want them to believe without a doubt that He was always there, always watching, always loving--even when their future looked bleak. I want them to experience God's goodness, His kindness, His favor.

Of course I want this for Jackson as well, but it's my special prayer for these three children who have faced so much hardship in their young lives.

This song gives me chills every time I hear it. It's been true in my life, and I pray it's true for my children as well.

Waiting

A few days ago Jack and I noticed something unusual in our driveway. A small bird was fluttering and hopping and definitely not flying. Only one wing was flapping, and it appeared to only have one leg. It skittered around us, in obvious distress, and made it's way through the open door of our garage.

Little Birdie was hiding behind some boxes, and Jack and I became distressed as well. Besides the obvious concern we felt about the bird, I also thought about how this saga might end: Baby bird gets lost or trapped in our garage, dies a slow painful death, our garage starts to stink, I have no idea where the smell is coming from, I search the garage from top to bottom, find a decomposing bird, and have to call Ken home from work to handle the situation.

Let me reiterate, I was concerned about the bird. Deeply concerned. But when it came right down to it, I was also concerned about ME. Because ME is the lens through which I see the world. <<Human nature right there.

I quickly moved a box to prevent the bird from going deeper into the recesses of our garage, and the noise of the box scraping the concrete floor was too much for Birdie. Scared, he started flopping, hopping, and squealing the most pitiful bird cries I've ever heard.

Immediately, a flock of birds descended, circling our driveway. It was like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock's horror flick, Birds.

In the interest of full disclosure and blogging integrity, let me confess that I've never seen The Birds. But if it's horrible and there are a bunch of screaming, flapping, angry birds, that's what this was like.

All the commotion scared the injured bird out of the garage...and also scared the bejeebers out of me and Jack-Jack.

Picture this: Jack, one of the most dramatic, The-Sky-Is-Falling! kind of kids I know, waving his arms and yelling, "OH NO! OH NO!" And then he would jump up, jump down, and repeat.

I wonder if any of our neighbors were watching.

Anyway, I called our local animal shelter to tell them we had a severely injured, near-death, baby bird in our yard, and they dispatched someone immediately. While we waited, I assured Jack that they would take the bird to the animal hospital and help birdie until he was healthy enough to return to his parents.

The Animal Shelter lady arrived, and after a thorough inspection that lasted twenty-five seconds or less, she announced that our almost-dead Baby Bird was in fact a fledgling who was perfectly healthy.

She said it appeared the bird fell (or was pushed) out of the nest prematurely, and hadn't yet learned to fly. Apparently birds are sometimes hatched with their legs crossed against their body, and one might descend before the other...giving the bird the appearance of having only one leg. She said the bird would be just fine, that the birds circling overhead would bring food until he ... for lack of a better phrase, "spread his wings and learned to fly." It would just take some time, probably a day or so.

Phew.

I may have overreacted a little, but I am confident you would have, too, if you had witnessed that scene.

Thirty minutes later Jack was in the house and enjoying his daily half-a-peanut-butter-sandwich for lunch. He was quiet for a while, and then he said something I haven't been able to forget.

"Mom, I'm kind of disappointed the baby bird wasn't hurt."

He wasn't being cruel. He simply wanted the excitement and drama of the bird being put on a stretcher, loaded into the "ambulance," whisked away to the animal hospital, and being miraculously saved.

He wanted to be the Fixer. He wanted results. He didn't like the idea of simply waiting. Letting nature take its course. Allowing time for the bird to summon the courage to fly.

Isn't that a lot like us? We (and by "we" I mean "I") want instant results. It takes a lot of patience to rest in God's timing. To let friends, family members, and our children work out their problems on their own. To find moments of joy in the journey of life, rather than looking for results.

[sigh]

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In other news:

1. We passed another milestone in our adoption! We received approval on our revised I600a form, which basically says the U.S. government will immediately recognize D, M, and L as our children upon completion of the adoption. We had to re-submit this form because initially we indicated we were only adopting up to two children, and no older than 10 years. We are thankful we received this approval so quickly because Ethiopia requires it in order to take the next step.

2. The next step is complicated, but in a nutshell, documents must be compiled saying D, M, and L are, in fact, true orphans who have no extended family members who are able to care for them. Investigations must be done to locate family members, a court appearance has to happen with the relatives who relinquished them, and court orders have to be approved on three levels (the equivalent of city, county, and state).

All of these things take time. If you've ever stood in line at the post office, you know that government proceedings are slow. Now imagine being in a third-world country where electricity is spotty, internet is unreliable, and phones--where available--only work some of the time.

We are thankful that Ethiopia takes the care of their children so seriously and wants to ensure the integrity of each adoption. But we're praying the process will go quickly. Ethiopian government takes a "holiday" every year for several weeks, usually the end of August or beginning of September, and everything shuts down and gets put on hold. The exact dates are different every year, and they are not announced until a few weeks before it happens. So we are hoping lots of progress is made before this shutdown.

3. We also received an official referral letter from our adoption agency. We had already been "matched," but until we got approval from the U.S. for our revised I600a, they couldn't give us a contract. The signed, notarized contract is now in the mail back to the agency, and we will make one of the final payments on the adoption early next week. Then the only really big money stuff that is left is the airline tickets. Ken and I will travel to Ethiopia twice. The first trip will be for court. The second trip will be to pick up the children...so we'll be flying home with three children...who will have one-way tickets to Chicago. (The gravity of that has not sunk in yet.)

I wish we could buy the tickets in advance so we could get the very best deals, but it doesn't work like that. When Ethiopia is ready for you to come, they let you know, and you usually only have a short time to make your travel plans. (translate=expensive tickets) This expense is a concern to us, but we've seen God graciously provide for all our needs so far, and we know He won't let us down now.

That's all for now. We'll let you know when we have any other new developments.

I hope you have a relaxing weekend. Blueberry picking is on our agenda; what's on yours?

Luann

Doubting in the Dark

When we tell people we're adopting a sibling group of three, we get a few different responses.

"That's awesome! So excited for you! How can we help?" (Our favorite response, of course.)

"Wow." Followed by an awkward silence. (Yah, that's awkward.)

"Oh my. Do you think you're ready for this?" (As a matter of fact, no we are not. I mean, who is ever prepared for parenthood?"

"How many bedrooms does your house have?" (Still has three, last I checked.) "Well, where will you put all those kids?" (Gee, I don't know. In a dresser drawer? Or maybe, (gasp), they could share bedrooms?)

And my favorite, and by favorite I mean not my favorite, "You're so brave!" Implications include: What if these adopted kids turn into drug-crazed serial killers? What if your husband loses his job and you have FOUR children to support? Etc. Etc.

I admit I read into things a lot, and my own fears, doubts and insecurities play a major role in how I interpret things.

So here's the truth: I'm not brave. Ken's not brave (although braver than me). We're just doing what we think God wants us to do. He has opened so many doors and made it so obvious that we are to walk down this path ... that to not walk down this path would be outright sin. For us.

Some days I feel downright scared. You see, when we started this process, our finanical situation was a bit different. And now instead of the cost of adopting one child, we have the cost of adopting three.

But this is life. We all have unexpected things happen that alter the landscape.
And we have willingly chosen to do this.

My point is that sometimes we look like we're taking a big leap of faith--like adopting a child from Ethiopia--when in fact it's not faith at all. When we started this process, we had the desire to adopt; it wasn't like God was asking us to do something we felt averse to. We had the support of friends and family. And we had almost all the funds we needed, so there was little faith involved. It seemed right, doable.

And God laughed.

Apparently He wanted to stretch us. He wanted us to see that this was His doing, not ours.

He has blessed us in so many unexpected ways. Our garage sale last month generated more than a thousand dollars. Then our church's Vacation Bible School kids raised money for us as their special project. They raised more than $1,100!  And my sisters organized an adoption shower, and tons of friends gave us gift cards to help us feather our expanding nest. And did I mention that I totally furnished our girls' bedroom for $66? Adorable matching dressers, a nightstand, twin beds, and two mattresses. $66! That's God right there.

It's humbling to be given so much. You guys, it is humbling to be given so much. 

We prayed that our community (church, friends, family) would be involved in this adoption. We know that it takes a village to raise a kid, and a church to raise a Christian. And that prayer has been answered.

But it's still scary. Because now we are operating on faith. We don't know how we will manage going from a family of three to a family of six. We don't know what it will take to transition three children into a new family in a new country with a new language and new food.

But we know that God is able. And He is good. And He loves D, M, and L way more than we do.

These children have spent a long time in an orphanage. Too long. But we believe God will redeem those years. In the Bible God promises that He will repay for the years "the locusts have stolen." And we hang on to this promise for our kids. All of them. We want, more than anything, to bear witness to their redemption story. We want to see the goodness of God gloriously displayed in their lives. We want to be a part of their next chapter--and all the subsequent chapters of their lives.

So if you think we're brave, think again. Crazy might be closer to reality.

One of my favorite quotes says, "Don't doubt in the dark what God has shown you in the light." So that's what we're doing. Or rather what we're not doing.

Some days feel dark and confusing and scary. Other days feel light and hopeful and exciting. But every day is good, because God is good.

The Lord says, “I will give you back what you lost
    to the swarming locusts, the hopping locusts,
the stripping locusts, and the cutting locusts....
    Once again you will have all the food you want,
    and you will praise the Lord your God,
who does these miracles for you.
    Never again will my people be disgraced.

Then you will know that I am among my people...
    that I am the Lord your God, and there is no other.   Joel 2:25-27